


The Ghost Of You

by Sam_Haine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brooklyn, Captain America: The First Avenger, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, References to Hitler, SHIELD, Shameless Smut, Smut, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Haine/pseuds/Sam_Haine
Summary: Steve and Bucky are the best of pals. But 1942 is a weird and tumultuous time and with the war going on, they're bound to face some difficulties.





	The Ghost Of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the result of me listening to some Elvis Presley and watching old war films.

The Ghost Of You 

 

The streets of Brooklyn weren't always _this_ dirty during the night with trash littering the sidewalks and thick smoke puffing laboriously out of blackened red-brick chimneys. But James guessed that with the war going on, the community lacked the proper care and responsibility to clean the city around them. He trudged along the deserted street, his shadow casting an inky silhouette behind him as the dusty orange street lamp flickered at him. Somewhere in the alley to his left, a trashcan rattles with the familiar sound of a cat scrambling out of it. The smoky feline scampers past him with a half-eaten fish fillet, his lips pursing in fondness. 

_Steve would like a cat... wouldn't he?_

The thought crosses his mind as he slips his copper keys into the door to his humble apartment. The smell that greets him as he steps into his tiny living room is woodsy and the silence that follows reveals a telltale detail of loneliness. James would be the first to protest that his loneliness was a comfortable one that he often enjoyed but he'd be lying if he didn't think that his place could use a little companion sometimes. 

He sighs heavily, collapsing carelessly onto his ratty sofa, head resting back against the backrest. Today had been a tough day at the printery. The ink staining his hands and clothes were evidence enough if any. He didn't write for the paper of course, but he worked for the company that fixed their machines. And today a lot of printing presses needed servicing. His eyes close calmly as the pitter-patter of solitary raindrops begin dancing against his dusty window panes. God knew he needed the rainy weather to calm his frayed nerves after the hectic day he'd had, he thinks as he stretches out leisurely on the full length of the sofa. 

Just as his eyes begin to close, he hears a soft, almost hesitant knock on his door. His eyes pop open in a panic before he feels annoyance wash over him. 

_Seriously?_

He grumbles angrily to himself as he struggles to his feet, his white, stained shirt wide open, revealing a white wifebeater underneath. He buckles his belt halfway up, too tired to care about being properly covered for his unannounced guest. After another weighted sigh, he unlocks the door and just stares. 

"Steve?" 

The tiny boy is standing on his front steps, in the pouring rain, soaked to the bone, in nothing but dark brown trousers and a white shirt. Steve's blonde hair hangs like wet fronds on his forehead while his bony arms wrap around his small frame in some poor semblance of insulation. His skin is pale and his lips are a light pink but tinged with blue. His long lashes drip with rain as he offers James a regretful smile that doesn't seem to reach his wolfish blue eyes. 

"Hey Buck." 

 

.................

 

"Are you crazy?" 

"I'm sorry Bucky, really- I am-" 

Bucky Barnes on the other hand, has stopped listening to his foolish little friend and has started wiping him down with a warm, fluffy towel. His small fireplace is glowing with fire that he'd just stoked and a pot of water is on the stove boiling to make hot cocoa. Steve's wet clothes seep into his sofa but Bucky doesn't really care about that at the moment. His attentions are focused on getting Steve warm and dry and being pissed as hell. 

"You've had pneumonia before Steve. What were you thinking coming out in weather like this? D'you wanna give your mom a heart attack?" He rumbles impatiently, rubbing the blonde's hair dry with another towel. Steve shrivels at that and pouts sadly, his eyes hooded, bloodshot and burdened. Bucky doesn't realize until he's dried his hair and he finally has a chance to look at the boy properly. His face is gaunt, and sunken in and his cheekbones look sharper than usual. There are dark, bruise-like marks under his eyes. 

He pauses, a cautious hand on the boy's shoulder. 

"Steve, what's wrong?" 

The blonde chuckles quietly to himself and tries to play off the way his eyes tear up but he freezes when Bucky places a warm hand on his cheek. 

"Hey, ...you know you can tell me anything, right?" He coaxes gently, on his knees in front of the forlorn boy who tries his best to avoid Bucky's gaze. 

Steve and Bucky had been best friends since elementary school, inseparable since the day they met. Steve however had always been a bit genetically disadvantaged due to his expansive spreadsheet of illnesses and allergies. It had caused him to maintain a small and sickly frame while his friend, James Barnes, had grown into a flourishing young man who was at least five inches taller. Steve had to endure a lot since he was born, with a sick mother and a father who'd died in the war, he quite literally had no one to depend on and so this had led to many a struggle for the blonde. Bucky, however, had his folks who lived not too far away, good health and a steady job; but that didn't mean he had it good either. With the second world war waging in Europe, no one was ever _really,_ okay.

But Steve... Bucky had always had a soft spot for him and so whenever he needed him, Buck would try his best to be there. 

Just like now...

"Steve, what's going on with you? Hm?" 

His question is soft and patient, gentle like the way he always is when it comes to Steve... _most of the time._ Other times, he wants to strangle the living daylights out of the boy but, that's a story for another time. Steve looks seriously troubled right now and it's scaring him. 

"It- ...it's my mom..." 

Bucky freezes, his breathing harsh and rigid. 

_Fuck._

Steve's mom- Sarah- had been struggling to raise him by herself after his father had died in combat. With a sickly son, it had been hard to tend to his medical needs and pay rent in the small apartment they'd been staying in after they'd lost the house. She worked in a textile factory not too far from home. In the sweatshop environment, she had become sick from all the chemicals and toxic gases that she encountered everyday and every day her condition deteriorated along with her ability to take care of Steve. Quite tragic, really and Bucky helped out where he could but recently, he'd been caught up with his new job and hadn't had the time to check in on the Rogers'. 

He could feel the guilt eating away at his soul. 

"What- ...what happened? Is she okay?" He demands, hands rubbing Steve's shoulders to keep him warm. His clothes are still soaked and cold. Steve doesn't answer, seemingly too distraught to speak but he just shakes his head and a small sob escapes his lips. A sob that he quickly tries to cover up with a cough. 

And a cough that turns into a choking fit, Bucky patting his back firmly until it subsides. 

"Okay, lemme get some dry clothes for you." 

He gets up and stokes the fire some more before heading to his room to grab some warm, dry apparel for the shivering blonde. He rummages through his clothes, trying to get a t-shirt and a pair of trousers that Steve wouldn't _drown_ in. He ends up finding an old pair of cotton shorts and a soft-white, long sleeved shirt. Both items are probably twice Steve's size but they're thick and warm so Bucky figures they'll do the job. When he returns, Steve is at the stove, mixing the hot cocoa and pouring it into two cups. 

Bucky sighs, shaking his head. 

"C'mon, I could've done that. Here, I got you some dry clothes." 

Steve turns to him, blushing guiltily before trudging over. He takes the clothes with a quiet "thanks" but then pauses. 

"Buck, I'm really sorry for just showing up. I can leave-"

"Don't be stupid Rogers. Just go change, I'll prepare something for us to eat." 

Steve bows his head obediently and vacates the room, Bucky ignoring the way his chest constricts with pure concern for the boy. 

 

..............

 

"You always make the best hot chocolate Buck." Steve hums appreciatively, sipping indulgently from the ceramic tea cup in his hands. His eyes flutter shut in pleasure as the warm, sweet liquid slides down his throat and settles comfortably in his stomach. Bucky just sits across from him on the sofa, his wintery blue eyes carefully scanning Steve's face for clues. The boy still hasn't told him why he was so upset and now he was pointedly ignoring Bucky's gaze.

"Thanks small fry. There's more if you want." Bucky says softly, smiling down at his own cup, even though the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. Steve clears his throat awkwardly but nods anyway, taking another sip. He's all clean and dry and soft-looking, wrapped up in Bucky's white cotton t-shirt with sleeves way too long for his small limbs. His hair is blonde and fluffy, shining golden from the fireside. The shorts fit him a bit longer past the knee than it's supposed to but he doesn't seem to care. It feels as if he's surrounded by Bucky and right now- ...it's all he can hope for. 

He just wants to forget about his problems for _one night._

"How's the new job at the paper?" 

Bucky scoffs gently but takes it in stride, nodding his head. "It's cool, actually. The pay is decent and there's a cutie working there. Her name's Marylin and she's one of the first female editors in the room. Pretty cool huh?" 

Steve smiles and nods, albeit distractedly.

"She likes you I bet." He murmurs softly, his smile distant. 

Bucky shakes his head. "Nah, she's got eyes for the political analyst, Johnny Nelson. They both got caught makin' out in the printing room." 

Steve chuckles a bit at that and it's good to hear but, not good enough. He's still distracted, sad and something is bothering him. It's not too hard to notice.

"Steve, c'mon. You gotta tell me what's going on man." 

One look into Bucky's pleading eyes and... he can't. He can't keep it a secret, can't keep it inside. Bucky deserves to know and he needs to take this weight off his own shoulders. His forced smile falters and his hands are shaking, making the hot chocolate in the cup tremble. He doesn't realize he's sobbing until Bucky relieves the cup from his hands and wipes at a tear drop with his thumb. 

"Steve..." His brunette friend says gently, his usually confident friend sounding cautious and almost afraid; as if he would break of Steve told him what was really wrong. The small blonde shakes his head and covers his face with both palms. 

"My mom's getting worse. Dr Cochrane said there's nothing more he can do." 

Buck's hand on his shoulder nearly loses its grip, fingers frozen in shock at the news. He doesn't say a word, much too shocked and distraught over the news. Sarah had always been a nice and kind woman who loved her son fiercely and took care of him despite her condition. It was only recently that they had found out her sickness: lung infection. A terrible one. 

But Bucky always thought she'd get better...

"Please- say somethin' Buck. Tell me she's gonna be okay." Steve's small but desperate plea shakes him out of his thoughts and he blinks dumbly into the boy's tearful blue eyes. Lung infections were impossible to cure, and with the war going on, all medical attentions were focused on servicing the military. To cure Sarah, they would need a specialist and those were damn near impossible to come by. Maybe in the year 2000 things would improve in the medical field but now...? 1942 was as dismal and as hopeless as it got. It seemed Dr Cochrane was right. 

There _was_ nothing else he could do. 

"Buck- please." Steve sobs again but he falters as Bucky's arms wrap around him, holding him gently. He felt so small and fragile in Bucky's hold that he had to check to make sure the boy hadn't fallen out of his grip. His sobs are wretched and sound like the tortured wails of some wounded animal. He buries his face into Bucky's chest, his tears instantly soaking into the brunette's cotton shirt. Bucky feels his heart immediately break no- _crush_ for his friend and he hates the feeling. Hates being so helpless and hopeless when Steve needed him most. But it would be cruel to concede to the boy that he thought Cochrane was right. Sarah had been worsening with every year that passed and now with the country thrown into turmoil because of the war, it didn't seem likely that she would ever make a recovery. 

She hadn't in five years...

But he lies. 

He lies through his teeth to the most important person in his life and it's one of the hardest things he's ever had to do but he does it anyway. Anything to protect Steve from hurting even though he's pretty torn up at the moment. He feels rotten for lying to his best friend like that but... he's too selfish. 

"Of course pal. She's gonna be fine." 

The words taste fake and dry and _harsh,_ like sawdust in his mouth, curling up his tongue. He struggles to believe himself while Steve just collapses into him, his sobs wracking his body. He's never seen Steve so... broken before, he thinks. And he's seen Steve when he'd had pneumonia and an asthma attack and a boat load of other illnesses that could have killed him. But Steve Rogers had the resilience of a cat with ten lives and he'd never let his medical history dictate his life and the way he lived it. He'd always been strong- stubbornly so, so to see him crumple so easily like this... was devastating to say the least. 

Steve falls asleep within minutes, still curled up in his arms, the chocolate cold on the side table. 

Bucky's eyes never close until dawn breaks the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all liked, idk if there will be more to come. And there are more tags to be added, so don't freak. Much love, Sam.


End file.
